A gust of irrational impatience blew through her being. " "Yes. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. His eyes were closed. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers.
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